It's A Fake Girl's Universe
by crazysmile15
Summary: I’ve lost my identity; lost it to a girl I thought I could trust. I can’t be me anymore. I tremble uncontrollably, the fragments of my sanity shattering to minuscule shards. I’m nothing before I could become something." REVIEW!


**January 12**

My reflection blurs as I stare at it for too long. My staring has nothing to do with vanity, but fear. I've lost my identity; lost it to a girl I thought I could trust. I can't be me anymore. Not Jenna Milovich, not straight A student, not even invisible. I tremble uncontrollably, the fragments of my sanity shattering to miniscule shards. I'm nothing before I could become something. And the one person I thought I could confide in knew from the moment she saw me, that I was the biggest nothing to occupy space. Is this who I wanted to be? Looking in the mirror, the answer is clearly "no". Limp blond hair, watery bloodshot eyes, toothpick arms, a pinched face. If I can't like myself, then why should anyone else?

**January 5**

"_Beauty is in the eye of the beholder_." Mr. Milridge stated as he wrote on the black board.

"What do you think the quote is trying to tell us? Anyone?"

No one would dare raise there hand to answer such a cheesy quote. Not even me, I'd rather not risk social suicide. Mr. Milridge didn't know that though, he was one of the few teachers in school who actually still believed teenagers were enthusiastic about education. It was heartbreaking watching a dying breed try to inject some life into an otherwise comatose class.

"Fine, I guess you younglings are too desensitized by electronics these days to comprehend what real beauty can be."

Mr. Milridge had been around for far too long to understand the complexities of the teenage mind.

"Write a three-hundred word essay on the quote I have just written on the board. You guys have enough time to start in class." Mr. Milridge did some spastic motion, indicating we start working.

The kids around me moaned, shuffling papers around and passing pencils to those who hadn't brought one. I pulled out a crisp white sheet of paper. What was beauty though? This would be a challenge, since I didn't hold myself up with such high self-esteem.

You could say that was the moment my universe changed. I could almost feel the gears shift and alter themselves within me. Terrifying, but it was a welcome sensation. The sense of the unknown was thrilling, like the feeling you got just before you were about to vomit. My insides quivered as the doorknob slowly rattled, every head in the classroom screwed upwards. Enter the new girl.

I knew how to answer Mr. Milridge's question. There was only one name for what I saw open the door, hand a note to Mr. Milridge, and then float onto her chair. Actually float! It would be quite disappointing if the new girl's name was not Beauty. My eyes we're glued to her glossy hair, sharp grey eyes, heart shaped face, and hourglass body. I couldn't get enough of staring at her, scanning her beauty and trying desperately to duplicate it. I would be her best friend, without a doubt. It had been preordained that I would be her posh new friend. My heart pounded perversely with these thoughts; still I urged the bell to ring, all the while writing nonsense on my paper.

**January 6**

It wasn't till the next day that I summoned the courage to introduce myself. Infatuation has a way of messing with your brain chemistry. One second your obsessing over your dream friend, the next your legs are moving of there own volition without your consent and your talking to the object of your insane fantasies. Our conversation went something like this;

"Hi, my name is Jenna Milovich. We have English Lit together."

Laurel caught on fast that my intentions were purely to be friends; she cracked a dazzling smile up at me.

"Hi, my name is Laurel Anderson. I have English Lit with you." We both laughed.

I wasn't sure if I should sit or just leave; Laurel seemed to sense my malaise and made room for me at the cafeteria table. After that it was like we we're long lost pals. For the rest of lunch and whatever classes we had together we gabbed happily. At the end of the day it was like Laurel knew my life story and she had remained a mystery.

**January 7**

I was feeling better about myself and it showed. My mother stopped asking me if I wanted some of her anti-depressant pills, and my sister ceased her daily tirade of calling me ugly….not really. Walking into school, the only person I could think of to thank for my personality improvement was Laurel. But she wasn't there, leaving me to sit at "_our_" table alone. All my thoughts ran themselves into walls trying to decipher a girl I had only just met. Somehow though, I had felt us connect on a deeper level.

Laurel met up with me in Spanish class, not even apologizing for standing me up. Instead she went directly to the back of the class. I tried to focus, but it was as if every time Laurel laughed it was amplified in my head, like she was laughing at me. I wanted to be worthy in the eyes of Laurel again. My obsession with her escalating to stalkerish proportions, but I refrained from calling her out during class. When the bell rang I rushed to catch up with her. Seeing as she was going into the bathroom alone, I followed her inside. The door swung close behind us, the warning bell ringing. Laurel turned to face me, slightly shocked to see me there, my face heated up with embarrassment.

"Um, you weren't in class today Laurel. I took down some notes for you."

My hands shook as I searched for them in my binder, spilling them all over the sticky floor. I dropped to my knees, the bright fluorescent lights burning my back through my clothes. The doors to the bathroom stalls creaked opened and three other girls' trickled out. There was unchecked violence in there eyes. I knew my fate, but still I cried out Laurel's name as there feet made contact with my body. Kicking me in the back, stomach, head, anywhere they could kick, all the while Laurel laughed. As the girls left, I watched there feet shuffle out the door, crying softly and holding my head. I couldn't speak, let alone breathe. But I could still whisper a "_why_"? Laurel just sneered, contorting her face in disgust. How could I have thought her, of all people to be beautiful?

"You're such a fag." And she left as well, the door swishing shut behind her.

I dragged myself over to the mirror, and lifted myself up carefully. My face was slightly swollen, my hair ratty, and there was blood sliding down the side of my face. I sobbed even harder, knowing this was how I looked on the inside too.

**-The End-**

**Word Count: 1,150 **


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